The EX

If you choose to follow this chapter, favorite or pin this post. This is the one and only post that is dedicated to my ex and our relationship. He will not be mentioned (unless in scenarios) going further. He is worthy of one entry. 

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING DISCLAIMER ⚠️
This entry contains vivid descriptions of domestic abuse and sexual abuse. Each event will be marked so you can scroll if necessary. 

I met my ex at the age of 19. I was a freshman at Eastern Mich. He was the brother of a friend on my floor. I had a boyfriend when I started college, he was back home. Also too good for me.  I quickly fell into college life and within a few weeks we broke up. It was that night that I got drunk for the first time and had a “one night stand”, also sex in front of someone. To make a blurry memory defined: I broke up with him, felt sad, decided to go and party….he was 21 and supplied the alcohol for us. He was left to “supervise me” aka make sure I was ok, as I was 19, just broken up, drinking, etc. He definitely took care of me- I recall zero. I woke up the next morning to his sister knocking on my door asking “Is my brother in here“, I remember looking down and I was wearing someone else’s oversized tee-shirt….I glanced towards my bed, and yes her brother was in fact asleep in my bed….

This was September 2001. The months following up, through maybe December are a blur. I can assume that it was a quick, whirlwind romance, I was wined dined, quite frankly 69ed. Events shall be summarized and grouped because we dated for almost 2.5 years?

As mentioned we started dating in September of 2001.  I was 19 and he was 21. I had just graduated high school and moved 2.5 hours away for college. I was a good girl growing up; my indiscretions were minisical compared too- my parents were just strict; rightfully so. I had dreams, goals, etc. My ex not so much. He was my opposite; my bad boy. He smoked marijuana openly (it was illegal at that time), he drove a “flashy” car, he was ignorant/ghetto/rude in his tone and body language-but in reality was a geeky country farm kid wanting to be something else. Everyone hated him; my parents, my friends, he was not good enough. That made me want him more. It allowed me to fall under his influence.

At 19 I was a homewrecker. Yes. Homewrecker. He was married, his wife was pregnant and he was fucking me every chance he could. Did I know at first-no. He kept that from me. 19 year old me; didn’t give two fucks. Fuck her; she was the villainess. 41 year old- it’s another viewpoint. At the time I thought I was the only one- how naive. He fucked her, me, and probably a few other. But I stayed. I was loyal.

We got pregnant on purpose. One might wonder how is that possible when I was living in the dorms and he lived about 45 minutes away? My roommate dropped out mid way through so I had my own room- he stayed over; I think you can use your own imagination. I stayed weekends at his parents. 19 year old me had sex without care. I made sure his parents knew I was enjoying myself-this leads to problems down the road… We were openly sexual at their house, they didn’t bat an eye. They didn’t question his morals. We showered often together, he was my first. We rounded third base while watching movies with the family under a blanket, orgasming silently soaking my panties. I paraded around in his oversized t-shirts, ass hanging out with a thong covering the rest. We drove down back roads to fuck while horses frocklicked in the field. I tracked my ovulation, I joined TTC groups- at 19 I was settling down for wife and motherhood…..

Sounds like a fairytale…I forgot to mention the STI’s….there were a few and anytime I would question he blamed his ex wife (the divorced at some point and said child was birthed). Said it was from her previous indiscretions. I believed him, but also knew it wasn’t truthful…You just know. During this point I saw rage…sometimes..it was more geared at his parents, or others. And I just saw the temper tantrums. He’d throw his phone, that type of stuff. He’d get pissed. But nothing more…

In August of 2002 I officially moved to Michigan. No one supported the decision and it started another rift and disappointment in my parents eyes. We got an apartment and began our lives together. (Because there were a lot; we ultimately spent most of our relationship living in his parents home and lived there up until I left.)

I got pregnant.

It was then that everything changed. Everything. I was a literal punching bag. As I have aged and researched, my ex is mentally ill. That is not his fault. He at the time were together was not getting help, he had not previously gotten help. It was the age that mental illness is heightened. I was his maniac phase. He became verbally abusive. I could never do anything right. Unfortunately I cannot recall specific verbal events. I know I was called a bitch I feel thats a given. I know I was accused of cheating; I never did. With that probably came slut and whore. I quickly learned “my place”. But I unfortunately also have an issue of “poppin’ off at the mouth” and sometimes will say whatever I am thinking without caring. That’s fine-but not when you are dealing with someone who is abusive. It adds kerosene to an open flame. I can’t tell you how many times my mouth made it worse for myself, because I couldn’t advocate…

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️
These next few paragraphs contain domestic violence. 

I was pregnant when the abuse started. I couldn’t tell you how it transitioned from verbal to physical. I also couldn’t tell you the first instance when it became physical. But I can share the few moments that I am haunted with. These are moments that when I close my eyes I am transplanted into the moment. I am paralyzed. I can feel his presence, his smell permeates my brain… These are in no chronological order; they are excerpts..

•We were arguing and I went to kick him in the chest (he had a bad heart). He grabbed my ankle and pulled my body out from under me. I ended up falling backwards with the wind knocked out of me.

•He would punch me on my thighs. He would pinch my thighs. He would bit my arms. A lot of these bruises I would lie and say we played couples softball. He played softball-I sat in the bleachers. I said they were from sliding into bases…It worked. I previously played softball.

•He would punch me in the face. I don’t know how many black eyes I had. I lied. I said it was from allergies and sinus pressure. It worked, we lived in the country surrounded by hay, cornfields and I have terrible allergies.

•When I was pregnant and we had our own apartment I upset him and he picked me up and choked me. Put his hands around his neck until I semi-blacked out, I remember peeing myself, and his cousin intercepting saying something along the lines of “let her go man“; I remember falling onto the couch. He left. I took a bath and watched American Idol- as though it was ok.

•If he was mad and had me pinned down he would try and wrap me like a pretzel and twist my legs and arms in weird positions? It always hurt because he would bend them behind me, pulling. I just recall wriggling trying to get free; but in those moments when I was pinned down, he was the Hulk. The rage.

•We would be driving and I would upset him and he would speed up, driving erratically. Turning corners on dirt roads without a care. Slamming the brakes. Spinning the car. Quite literally trying to kill me, us.

•He would hold pillows over my face. There were a lot of times I would scream; hoping his dad would help….he was always the next room over….so to silence me, he’d hold a pillow over my face. I’d eventually stop because I couldn’t breath. There were times it would get fuzzy.

•He constantly threatened to kill me. To shoot me.

•We were in the laundry/bathroom and he pinned me against the washer/dryer with a shot gun to my head. I don’t remember why, I don’t remember what he said, what I said. But I know in that moment I couldn’t understand how his cousin could be sitting on the porch and not help, and two, I was dying that day and I was pregnant.

•He held said same shot gun to my throat and pulled the trigger. It was a blank. It clicked. I flinched. In that moment he said I own you bitch. And walked away. I remember I laid there for hours, still, wondering if he was coming back…

He broke me. There were so many. And so many times there were witnesses. There were people that could have stepped in. Only one ever did. I still wonder how people didn’t know. And if they did…..how could they not….not help…

How did I leave?

Our son was born and it was not better. He was more abusive. More aggressive. He wanted me dead. The breaking point; I asked him to hold our son so I could shower. He hit me. It went downhill from there. That was the day he beat me the hardest; I was welted with purple bruises, two black eyes, a swollen and bruised jaw, 4 fractured ribs, a broken pinky finger, and a dislocated thumb. He was weird; he would beat me then be nice, then use it against me, and beat me. He beat me. Then I said I was leaving so he took me to Meijer, I cleared the food stamp and WIC card for our son. We came home he beat me some more. We went into town to visit our friends; he bragged. I showed the gf. pleading for help. She did nothing. We came home and he beat me. I called my friend and her dad and her drove to get me. From Slim Shady as her dad called him. My son was 6 weeks old.

One would think I wouldn’t go back…

I did. I was guilty; he used our son against me.

I was living with my parents in another state. They took the battery out of my car. They did everything they could to keep me away from him-just in the wrong ways. Because I never was honest…until this entry no one knew what I went through. No one understands the power he has over me. I went back, he abused me, the police got involved and it was then that I had my moment of clarity.

Fast forward many years….I parented “alone” but with my significant other. He stepped in at 18/19 months. As one can assume my ex played games and continues too. There has been verbal abuse on and off in the last 20 years. It upsets me and gets me going for a moment or two; but passes because I know he’s trash.

Phew. I’m exhausted. I’m vulnerable. I need a nap.

He may get an additional entry or two as the story unfolds…..but after this- I pose you a question- is he a villain or knight in shining armour?